


The Deepest Cut (Is The First Time)

by alivingfire



Series: tumblr stuff/short fics [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, First Time, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, The X Factor Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 18:11:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8112301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alivingfire/pseuds/alivingfire
Summary: “You know what we should do?” Louis asks, his voice a little wobbly but otherwise fine. Harry’s jealous of how in control of himself he seems, when he feels like he’s about to combust into a million heart-shaped pieces of confetti. “Or, actually, you know what you should do?” 


  “What? Anything. Whatever you want,” Harry mumbles, his attention scattered by the heat thudding through his veins. 


  “You should fuck me,” Louis says. 


  And, suddenly, he has Harry’s attention laser-focused on him once more. 

From a prompt on tumblr for HL's first time.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [First Time by Vance Joy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=irfkIP91thQ).

The X-Factor house is rarely quiet. It’s full of people who love being the center of attention, which means forty people constantly trying to compete to be the loudest person in the room. There’s always noise from somewhere; someone is doing vocal warmups and someone is gossiping about someone else, who is yelling upstairs about someone drinking the last of her milk. This place is built on competition, which bleeds over even after the cameras are shut off. 

Or, well. Not anymore. There’s just seven of them left now, so Louis always wins the loudest person in the house award without even trying. 

But it isn’t loud right now - it’s quiet except the rumble of constant London traffic, cabs and buses rolling by on the street outside. It’s quiet except for the wind whipping against the windows, the December chill trying to force its way inside. 

It’s quiet except for Harry and Louis, sharing whispers and kisses under the blankets on Harry’s bunk, a moonlight through the window barely lighting up their little makeshift tent. 

They should be asleep. It’s the finals tomorrow, the _finals,_ their last time ever performing on the Fountain Studios stage no matter if they go out first tomorrow night or if they win the whole thing. Their songs bounce constantly through Harry’s head, _There’s nothing where we used to lie, conversation has run dry_ and _Let us die young and let us live forever_ and _I can see the perfect sky is torn_ and _youth is like diamonds in the sun_ and

And Louis kisses him again, a soft press of lips, and Harry forgets everything. He’s wiped clean, new. A blank slate, ready to be carved into something beautiful by Louis’ smiles. 

“You were thinking too hard,” Louis whispers when he pulls back, grinning. 

They should be asleep, but it’s so hard for Harry to close his eyes when being awake just a little longer means he gets to have _this_. He gets Louis, his bright eyes, his quick wit, his sharp tongue, his sweet kisses; when he’s asleep he dreams about what he and Louis will do when he wakes up, so why fall asleep in the first place? 

“Sorry,” Harry says, kisses Louis back. Louis tastes like mint toothpaste and forever. 

“Don’t apologize, love.” Louis nips at his lip.  

They should be asleep, but how _could_ they sleep? They’re on the edge of their future, tomorrow could change everything. _Get a good night’s sleep, lads,_  Liam had said before they’d switched the light off, but Liam isn’t the one sleeping right above the object of his distraction. And right here, right now, this is the only thing keeping the both of them sane. 

A week ago Niall pulled Harry aside and said, “I think Louis is freaking out about the semi-finals tomorrow, can you calm him down?” 

And Harry asked, “Why me?” 

And Niall answered, “Would you trust anyone else for this job?” 

And the answer, obviously, was no. So Harry coaxed Louis away from where he was tormenting their competitors and Liam, threw distraction ideas at him until one stuck, and that’s how Louis ended up cooking Harry some chicken wrapped in parma ham, and that’s how Harry ended up pressing Louis up against the wall of the quiet, dark kitchen to give his thanks. 

This is the same, even if it’s different: the One Direction bedroom is quiet and still, the sound of Niall’s slow, even breathing, Zayn’s restless sleep kicking, Liam’s muted snores. The wind outside the house and the heating unit inside combine to drown out Harry and Louis and their soft exhalations, their skin sliding against the sheets as they shift and move. 

Still, Harry pulls back, fights the urge to let Louis chase him across and steal more kisses, and he says, “We should- we should go somewhere.” 

“Somewhere… like where?” Louis asks. His eyes are stuck to Harry’s lips. His own are puffy and pink from long minutes of kisses. 

“Somewhere… where our bandmates won’t wake up and catch us.” 

Louis grins. “Planning on getting loud, Harold?” 

Harry flushes, and that makes Louis’ grin grow. He slips out of Harry’s bunk and holds his hand out; Harry takes it, grabs his blanket, and they creep out into the hallway, then downstairs to the lounge. They fall onto one of the nearest sofas and roll together, slotting their thighs against each other. Louis brushes his knee teasingly against Harry’s rapidly hardening cock. 

Harry whines and rolls himself on top of Louis, because when it comes to Louis Harry has negative amounts of self control, and because he likes the way he can feel Louis’ heart speed up against his own. He connects their lips and this time there’s no real need to be quiet: Liam and Niall and Zayn and Matt and Rebecca are all tucked away in their own rooms upstairs with the doors firmly closed, and the camera crews have gone home for the night, and it’s just Louis, and Harry, and the way their skin slides together. 

“Lou, can I-” he says, and he doesn’t even know what he’s asking for, but Louis says, 

“Yeah, yeah, _please,”_ and so Harry just, he just- 

He slides his hands under Louis’ pyjama bottoms and his boxers and palms at Louis’ bum. Louis’ breath hitches in surprise but Harry is almost too thunderstruck to hear it; Louis’ arse is a revelation, and it fits Harry’s hands too damn perfectly for him to ever be able to let go again. He squeezes, cups the soft skin, strokes patterns. All the while, Louis scrabbles at Harry’s shoulders like he’s overwhelmed by the press of Harry’s palms. 

“Fuck, Hazza,” Louis whimpers. “Kiss me, kiss me.” 

Harry leans back down and kisses Louis hard, little noises spilling into the room, disconnecting, reconnecting, slips and slides and little bites. Harry’s fully hard now, and he’d be embarrassed by how much he _wants_ right now except the heat of Louis’ cock is burning against him too, and so if he’s all in at least Louis is right there with him. 

Louis slides his hand under Harry’s boxers and palms lightly at Harry’s cock. Harry moans, throaty and needy, and his hips jump forward desperately. This isn’t the first time, hell, this isn’t the _dozenth_  time, that they’ve been right here in this position, but every time feels new and magical and just a little bit better than the time before. 

“Is this okay?” Louis whispers. 

“Yes, God, yeah, it’s wonderful, you’re wonderful,” Harry babbles, and Louis hushes him with another quick kiss. Harry’s breath leaves him all at once when Louis starts to stroke, his insides lighting up with a roiling combination of euphoria and electricity. 

“You know what we should do?” Louis asks, his voice a little wobbly but otherwise fine. Harry’s jealous of how in control of himself he seems, when he feels like he’s about to combust into a million heart-shaped pieces of confetti. “Or, actually, you know what _you_ should do?” 

“What? Anything. Whatever you want,” Harry mumbles, his attention scattered by the heat thudding through his veins. 

“You should fuck me,” Louis says. 

And, suddenly, he has Harry’s attention laser-focused on him once more. 

“Can you?” he asks. He’s sounding a little more desperate now, shifting underneath Harry like he aches to arch up against him, to press their cocks together. “Can you fuck me, Hazza? Make me yours, I wanna- wanna be yours.” 

“ _Jesus,”_ Harry whispers, in awe. “Lou, are you sure?” Louis fumbles his hand into his pyjama pocket and pulls out a little tube. Harry reads the words _anal lubricant_ and goes woozy from all the rest of his blood pounding into his cock. “ _Jesus,”_ he says again, voice cracking. 

“You’ll do it?” Louis asks. “I want it to be you.” 

Harry reaches out with a shaky hand and takes the tube; it’s the only thing he could possibly conceive that could make him pull his hands from Louis’ bum. 

“How,” he mumbles, still flooded with adrenaline and surprise, “how do I, what do I-” 

“Here, you-” Louis says, and takes the tube back. Pops it open, reaches for Harry’s hand, stripes Harry’s first two fingers with clear, cool liquid. He guides Harry’s hand down, down between his legs, then lets Harry brush his index finger against the hottest bit of skin there. 

Louis lets out a breath like he’s been reintroduced to oxygen, and smiles. His eyes drop closed as Harry strokes over the puckered skin again and again, and then he whimpers when Harry sucks a bruise high up on his neck. 

“More,” he whispers, and so Harry holds his breath and pushes just the tip of his finger in. Louis stills, wriggles for a moment, grits his teeth. Harry almost pulls out again but Louis says, “No, no, hold on, just.” He lets out a breath and visibly loosens his tense muscles. “Okay. Keep going.” 

Harry pushes his finger in a little more, achingly slowly, and then back out again. He’s done this with girls but this is so much better; the tight grip Louis has on his shoulder, the way his fingers flex when Harry’s finger stretches the muscle a little more, the tiny sighs and shifts and the way Louis is getting hard again right in front of him. 

When Harry has his whole finger all the way in, his knuckles pressed to Louis’ rim, Louis murmurs, “’nother.” 

And Harry complies. This time it’s smoother, easier to work up to it, and then he has two whole fingers  _inside Louis_. He feels a little faint, but in the best way possible. 

“Can you-” Louis asks, then holds up a hand and mimes crooking his fingers, a come hither motion. Harry copies him and suddenly Louis is arching off the sofa, a high-pitched noise pouring out of him, his leg coming up to wrap around Harry’s hip. 

Harry can feel it, now, the little bit that feels different from the rest of Louis, a little hard, a little rough. He rubs slow circles and watches Louis unspool underneath him. His throat works as he swallows, his muscles jump.  

“One more,” Louis whispers, his eyes opening slowly. 

“Are you sure?” Harry asks. He hasn’t been able to pull his eyes away from Louis’ expression of bliss but he does now; Louis’ skin is stretched around his fingers, slick and red and _hot_ , unbelievably hot, and the sight makes Harry’s mouth water. Still, another seems like too much; Louis feels fragile here, soft and secret. 

Louis reaches down and grabs Harry’s cock, and Harry moans in surprise, his vision whiting a little at the edges. “I know you know how big this is,” Louis mumbles, hazy grin appearing. “Give me another.” 

So Harry does. He grabs the little tube and drops another dollop of viscous liquid onto his ring finger, then slowly inches it inside as well. Louis shivers, so Harry leans down and takes the head of his cock into his mouth; apparently that was the key, as Louis bucks up into Harry’s mouth with a shocked “Ah!” and his muscles loosen more, bit by bit. 

Three fingers, fully in. Harry finds that spot again and this time Louis’ little moans and sighs are like an avalanche of sound. He’s leaking against his stomach, a little pool of precome. 

“Is this- are you-” Harry mumbles feverishly, his own dick twitching and needy. “Can I?” 

“Christ, yes, yes, do it,” Louis whines. The blanket Harry brought downstairs with them is tangled around their legs and piled over Harry’s back; underneath it’s warm, Louis’ limbs coated in cool sweat. 

Harry slicks his cock and hovers over Louis, staring down at him. This is- this is big, this is monumental, this is _everything_ , and he just- 

“Lou,” he whispers, and Louis’ eyes flutter open. 

“Yeah, Haz,” Louis whispers back. “Me too.” 

Harry’s veins light up with happiness and need and so he leans down, takes Louis’ mouth again, and fumbles to press himself against Louis’ slick skin. He doesn't slide immediately in so he shifts, pushing harder.  

Then his cock slides up, skidding over Louis pelvis and stomach with the force of Harry’s thrust, and Harry falls forward onto Louis with a small _oof_. Louis goes still, and for just a second Harry thinks he’s ruined it. 

And then Louis is laughing, little hiccups of sound, and his eyes glint in the dark room as he grins up at Harry. Harry can’t help but giggle as well, his heart racing and his body overwhelmed and filled with giddy adrenaline. 

“Okay,” Louis chuckles, reaching down to grab Harry’s cock. “Okay, try again.” 

Louis helps guide Harry in, slowly pushing until the muscle gives, and then he’s _inside_. 

Harry’s entire world is narrowed down to where the heat of Louis’ skin envelopes him. He’s not sure he can move; too much and it’ll be all over; in fact, just like this, perfectly still except for Louis’ wriggly, needy movements, might be enough to throw him headfirst into orgasm. 

But Louis demands—“Move,” he begs, “move, Haz, Harry, _please,”—_ and Harry complies, hitching his hips back and then rolling forward. He tries to set a rhythm but his spine’s already hot, throbbing with the need to come, oh god, he’s gonna, he’s gonna- 

Louis wails underneath Harry and arches and spurts hot and white across his abs, and the sight of it is all Harry needs to combust into flames himself. His head is filled with white noise, his vision sparkling; his limbs are filled with lava and ecstasy. 

He drops, panting, to rest against Louis. Their chests heave. Their sweaty skin slides together. 

“We’ll,” Louis says between deep breaths, “we’ll work on our stamina.” 

Harry laughs, his head spinny, and kisses Louis until they’re both slipping into sleep, eyes fighting to close. 

Louis pulls back and tugs Harry down until they’re curled together, blanket flung haphazardly over them, and they crash headlong into sleep. 

 

 

When Harry wakes the next morning, it’s to Liam, Niall, and Zayn standing over him. Niall’s giggling so hard his face is red, and Zayn is badly trying to hide his own grin. Harry blinks muzzily at the onlookers and then slides his head back to look at Louis, who also still looks half-asleep but also a little smug, a blooming bruise high on his neck.  

Liam looks faintly exasperated but, in all honesty, not that surprised. 

“This was not what I meant when I said get a good night’s sleep,” he says, deadpan, and Louis shakes with silent laughter. 

“Sorry, Leemo,” he says, then stretches, ignoring Zayn’s hiss and Liam’s weary groan as the blanket covering them slips lower. “We’re up, give us a moment.” 

Their bandmates scatter and Louis grins, leaning down to kiss Harry softly. That done, he springs off the sofa and pulls Harry to his feet, and the first day of their future officially begins. 

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://alivingfire.tumblr.com/post/149653979211).


End file.
